


On Film Or Between The Sheets

by sciencefictioness



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Camboy Phichit, Camboy Yuuri, Hair-pulling, Lingerie, M/M, Spanking, sugar daddy viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-08-05 05:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: It would have been just another night spent drunk and lounging in Cristophe’s bed, talking shit about bad judges and hideous costumes, except that Viktor needed to call Yakov and couldn’t find his phone.  He pawed through the sheets and blankets, making a dramatic, frustrated noise before giving up and collapsing in a heap.Cristophe tossed his over with a sigh, no need for theatrics, Vitya.  When Viktor unlocked the screen he wasn’t greeted with Cristophe’s wallpaper— a selfie of him and Anton grinning into the camera.  Instead Viktor found himself looking at a porn site; a cam site to be precise.The video archives of Japanese guy, to be more precise, lean and pretty and just right side of twink, with a pair of glasses that should have been nerdy but managed to make him even hotter somehow.  About half of the video clips starred him and another user, one who was tan and even leaner with wild brown hair.The username at the top next to the profile thumbnail said ‘hoesetsu’.Hoesetsu.  There was a link in the profile to the other user’s page, ‘sinnamon-thai’.Viktor smiled wider, waggling his eyebrows at Cristophe.“Woooow, Cristophe!”





	1. Rapture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiokushitaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiokushitaka/gifts).



> And Now For Something Completely Different...
> 
> Romantic Viktuuri is endgame here, but hey, if they both casually smash Phichit along the way who is going to complain, not me...
> 
> Y'all can thank kio, as is ALWAYS the case with my yoi, lbr

It was all Cristophe’s fault, really.    
  
Viktor won gold at Worlds again, but it didn’t feel like something worth celebrating.  
  
It didn’t seem like a victory.  More like an inevitability— something he’d done because everyone expected him to, even if his heart was no longer in it.  The top of the podium wasn’t satisfying like it used to be, wasn’t vindicating or fulfilling.

The medal around his throat was heavy, and lights in his eyes were bright, and Viktor was so tired of it all.

He ended up in Cristophe’s hotel room, drinking champagne with him and Anton, even as the banquet raged on downstairs.  He’d overstayed his welcome, most likely, boredom and frustration with his own emotions making everything drag, but Cristophe wasn’t going to chase him out.  They’d been friends for too long, and he was well accustomed to Viktor’s mood swings by now; to the nuance and subtlety of his depression.

Knew all the ways Viktor hurt himself; when no one else was watching, where no one else could see.

It would have been just another night spent drunk and lounging in Cristophe’s bed, talking shit about bad judges and hideous costumes, except that Viktor needed to call Yakov and couldn’t find his phone.  He pawed through the sheets and blankets, making a dramatic, frustrated noise before giving up and collapsing in a heap.

Cristophe tossed his over with a sigh, _no need for theatrics, Vitya._  When Viktor unlocked the screen he wasn’t greeted with Cristophe’s wallpaper— a selfie of him and Anton grinning into the camera.  Instead Viktor found himself looking at a porn site; a cam site to be precise.  
  
The video archives of Japanese guy, to be more precise, lean and pretty and just right side of twink, with a pair of glasses that should have been nerdy but managed to make him even hotter somehow.  About half of the video clips starred him and another user, one who was tan and even leaner with wild brown hair. 

The one with the glasses, the user whose page Cristophe was on, was absolutely stunning.  All lithe muscle and flushed cheeks and a plush bottom lip with bright white teeth sunk into it.  Sultry, and teasing, and Viktor bit his own without meaning to as he grinned. The other user was less muscled, but his eyes shone with mischief, and some of the ways he twisted his body up in the stuttering slideshows Viktor hovered over were impressive to say the least.  The username at the top next to the profile thumbnail said ‘hoesetsu’.  
  
Hoesetsu.  There was a link in the profile to the other user’s page, ‘sinnamon-thai’.  
  
Viktor smiled wider, waggling his eyebrows at Cristophe.  
  
“Woooow, Cristophe!”  
  
Cristophe was utterly without shame, and flopped down on the bed next to Viktor with a lecherous grin.  
  
“They’re precious, aren’t they?  I was showing a video to Anton before you came up.  That little Japanese one with the glasses? He’s got some stamina, my god.  And his friend takes it like a champ. Click the one with the purple dildo, on the right, at the top.  It’s just a preview, but-”  
  
Viktor waved his hand at Cristophe in a fluttery dismissive gesture, shoving him farther away on the bed.  They were friends, and Viktor wasn’t particularly embarrassed by sex or porn, but he wasn’t really up for watching it with Cristophe and his lover while they were all half drunk on outrageously expensive champagne.  
  
He’d been down that road before, and he lacked both the energy and the interest to head that direction again right now.  So he exited the screen and dialed Yakov, telling him yes, he was fine, no, he didn’t need a ride back to the hotel, yes, he’d see him in the morning.  
  
But not before texting a link to his phone, because he had a suite all to himself, and he might as well take advantage of it.  It had been almost a year since he got laid, and at least a couple of weeks since he’d even bothered getting off. Training was exhausting, but the season was over, now, and Viktor felt something warm and needy stirring under his skin as he watched these two boys kiss messily in a grainy box on Cristophe’s screen.  He said his goodbyes, and stumbled to the elevator, fumbling his keycard a few times before managing to open the door. Partially his buzz making him clumsy, partially his eagerness.  
  
Maybe he was a five time world champion and Olympic gold medalist, but Viktor wasn’t above jacking off to shady porn sites alone in his hotel.  
  
It was five star, and he had a suite.  That counted for something, right?  
  
Viktor had an account on ‘Vidgasm’ less than an hour later, expensive blankets piled up behind him, lazing in the king size bed.  He’d almost put v.nikiforov as a username out of habit, but then thought better of it. It was a porn site, after all.  
  
And v.nikifuckov was a little better, wasn’t it?  Compared to some of the other names he saw it was downright chaste.  
  
He ended up dragging his laptop out, because he needed those twinks in at least seventeen inches of high definition.  When he got back to St. Petersburg, Viktor was going to sync his laptop up to his flat screen and pray the resolution held, because fuck’s sake.  
  
They were devastatingly attractive.  The one with glasses called himself Shiori, the other simply going by Sinna, and Viktor was near breathless as he watched them together.  The preview he’d selected at first was a mashup of short pieces from various livestreams and videos they’d done together, and Viktor was already hard in clothes watching it.  
  
There were a few seconds of them making out feverishly, tongues twisting messy between the two— very showy, and it probably wasn’t exceptionally enjoyable for them, but it certainly looked nice on camera.  Then the clip flashed over to show Sinna on his knees, mouthing at Shiori’s cock through some lacy white panties, his long fingers fisted aggressively in Sinna’s hair. After a teasing handful of moments the scene switched again, and this time it was Shiori between Sinna’s thighs. Sinna was standing, his face out of frame, frantically jerking himself off in front of Shiori’s open mouth.  Viktor found himself waiting expectantly, eager to see come splashed obscenely over the lenses of those glasses of his, when the video cut off to a screen full of text.  
  
Their usernames were there, along with a list of their streaming hours and time zone and a short message.  ‘Please come watch us! Subscribe for streaming alerts, and check out our wishlists!’  
  
Viktor huffed out a breath, more disappointed than he should have been, but he’d really wanted to see that particular money shot.  He sifted through the video archives, palming absently at himself through his pajamas, trying to find one that looked promising. 

The videos were generally shorter than the streams, from what he could tell, but of better quality.  The archived livestreams were much longer but a little less crisp, and really, why watch an old one? Half the point of a livestream was, Viktor imagined, the idea that it was live.  Considering they were halfway around the world from him, he wasn’t sure how practical of an idea that was, nor did he have the brain power right then to figure out what the time difference was between wherever they were in the states and St. Petersburg.

He slipped his hand into his clothes as he clicked on a video of the two of them together, the title of which was ‘Soft Dom Shiori’, and featured both of them in lacy lingerie.  It seemed a little odd for someone to be domming in pastel blue thigh highs and a garter belt, but Viktor wasn’t complaining.  
  
The video started playing, both boys already in frame, the camera trained on the bed from one side.  Viktor took himself idly in hand, fisting his cock but not stroking. Sinna was kneeling on the blankets, wrists tied behind him at the small of his back with red silk, leaning forward with his upper body propped up on some pillows.  He wore the same stockings and garter belt as Shiori, but in pink instead of blue, the colors contrasting vividly against their skin.   
  
_Fuck,_ they were both beautiful, though Viktor’s eyes lingered longer on Shiori.  He was ethereal, and if Viktor felt stupid thinking such a thing about a random guy on a porn site, it didn’t make it any less true.  His hair looked incredibly soft where it feathered down into his face, over the blue and black frames of his glasses. His skin was pale and smooth, and Viktor would pay good money to sink his teeth into the thick swell of those thighs.  He was muscled but still lean, still wiry.  
  
Still small enough that Viktor could manhandle him with ease, and he arched up into his palm at the thought, fingers closing in earnest around his cock.  He was viciously hard now, and he thumbed at the head of his shaft and rubbed slick circles against it.  
  
Shiori knelt behind Sinna, the hand closest to the camera trailing up and down his thigh, fingers dipping underneath his stocking to rub sensually at the skin.  His other hand kneaded into Sinna’s ass, spreading him apart, hips grinding forward teasingly.  
  
“Do you want me to spank you first?”  
  
The words were English, albeit with a hint of an accent, and Viktor found himself nodding along with Sinna because yes, he’d like that very much.  Shiori’s hand fell, harder than Viktor would have expected, the slap loud even on his speakers. Sinna rocked forward with a moan before lifting his hips higher, offering himself up as his hands opened and closed on empty air, nails the same soft pink as his stockings.  Shiori spanked him again, this time on the other cheek, giving Sinna no time to recover before returning to the first one.

Again, and again— Shiori worked him methodically, the skin of Sinna’s ass slowly turning red as he bucked and writhed.  Shiori cooed soft praise at him, sometimes in English, sometimes in Japanese. The lilt of his voice was beautiful either way, and Viktor wanted those words murmured into his skin, bitten into his throat.

Wanted to be where Sinna was, tied up in red silk, handprints throbbing to life on his ass and thighs.

_ God,  _ he needed to get laid, but it was simultaneously too easy and too hard, and right then the pretty boys on his screen were more than adequate.  Sinna rocked himself down against the pillows, cheeks flushed as he panted. Shiori was hard, stroking himself with his free hand, slow and lazy.  He rubbed the slick head of his cock over the inflamed skin of Sinna’s ass, then slipped it between his cheeks. Teasing more than anything else, rubbing the wet jut of his crown up and down against Sinna but not pressing in yet.

“Want me to fuck you, now?” Shiori asked, and Sinna nodded enthusiastically.  Shiori reached down and sank his fingers into Sinna’s hair, tugging hard, forcing his neck to arch.  He turned Sinna’s face towards the camera, smiling darkly, looking down his nose. “Ask nicely.”

“Please fuck me, Shiori, please.”  

He wasn’t looking at the camera, though; he was straining to turn his head, to look back at Shiori instead.  Shiori smiled wider, keeping his fingers tight in Sinna’s hair as he pushed forward, cock sliding home with one rough thrust.  Sinna’s mouth lolled open, and the noise he made was high and helpless. Genuine, at least to Viktor’s ears, and his cock pulsed in his hand as Shiori started fucking Sinna in earnest.

His free hand curled around Sinna’s hip, blue nails digging into tan skin as he set a merciless rhythm.  It was a beautiful picture— their stockinged thighs pressed together, Sinna’s bound hands clutching at Shiori’s stomach, spine bowed as Shiori held his head firmly in his fist.  The filth that poured out of his mouth was delicious,  _ that’s my good boy, take it, just like that,  _ and Viktor stroked himself faster, knees falling wide and face flushed hot.

He palmed his sac, the slide of his hand on his cock smooth now, precome dripping over his fingers.  Usually when he watched porn he just… watched. Enjoyed it, certainly, but Viktor didn’t often fantasize about anything in particular. 

This was different.

Viktor wanted this pretty boy to break him in _ half. _  He bit his bottom lip, and whined, huffing out ragged breaths through his nose as his eyes stayed locked on the screen.  

After a few long minutes of railing Sinna into the pillows Shiori pulled out of him and flipped him onto his back.  Like it was effortless, like he weighed nothing at all, and suddenly Viktor’s earlier notions of manhandling Shiori seemed foolish and short sighted.  Viktor didn’t want to toss him around.

Viktor wanted to  _ be  _ tossed around.  It had been a long time since someone had been both capable and inclined to do such a thing, but Viktor ached at the thought.  

Being picked up by his thighs, and slammed into a wall, and  _ taken. _

Shiori had Sinna’s knees shoved apart, elbows hooked under them, tugging Sinna down onto his cock.  His toes pointed, and then curled, hair messy around his face as Shiori fucked him higher on the pillows.  The outer clip on on Sinna’s garter had come unfastened, and his stocking was a tangle of pink under Shiori’s hand, strap falling loose beneath him; Viktor liked it.

Sexier in disarray.

Sexier, disarrayed by  _ Shiori. _

Sinna’s cock bounced against his stomach as Shiori slammed into him again and again, glasses slipping down on the tip of his nose, eyes bright and determined.  Viktor felt his orgasm looming and tightened his fist, fingers slipping behind his balls to rub circles against himself. Sinna’s body went taut, muscles tensing and head thrown back.

“Gonna come, gonna… let me come, please, Shiori.”

Shiori dropped one of Sinna’s legs and palmed his cock, jerking him off in fast, harsh little strokes.

“Come on, come for me, sweetheart, you can do it.”

_ Sweetheart. _

Viktor obeyed, just as Sinna obeyed, coming over his knuckles in warm wet bursts, eyes fluttering closed.  When he opened them again, shivering through the last of his climax, Shiori had pulled out of Sinna and was stroking himself hard and fast.  Kissing him, artless and filthy, as he came onto Sinna’s stomach. As soon as he finished he ran his palm through it, rubbing it into Sinna’s skin, smearing it over his ribs.

“Perfect,” he said, and Viktor watched them kiss for a while before the video shut off, the same message from before scrolling over the screen; subscriptions, alerts, wishlists.

“Perfect,” Viktor agreed in slurred Russian, wiping his hand off on the sheets with a sigh before raiding the bar for another bottle of champagne.

-

Halfway through the bottle it seemed like a good idea to find Shiori and Sinna’s wishlists and buy them things.  They’d given him the best orgasm he’d had in a long time, and if he rushed the shipping, maybe some of it would get there before their next stream.  He went to Shiori’s first, and the contents were so wildly varied it was jarring.

There were sex toys, of course, most of them expensive and elaborate.  Plugs with tails attached, intricately colored glass dildos, leather cuffs and harnesses.  There was also lingerie, stockings and garter belts, mostly, and something called an underbust corset.  Then came the makeup; eyeliner, lipstick, nail polish in a dozen shades. All items he’d use for his streams, most likely.

Under those there were more mundane things— hoodies and graphic tees and sneakers.  Beanies, and scarves, a couple of dressy jackets. A gaming headset and mouse, a bluetooth speaker, some earbuds.  There were bizarrely domestic things as well. A coffee maker, a rice cooker, a set of bath towels, candles. 

Viktor took a generous swig of his champagne, screen blurring a little, unable to decide what he should pick.  It would be nice to see them use something he bought during a stream, but it also seemed a little selfish. Viktor wondered how much money they made camming, if it was enough to pay their bills, or if they had other jobs.  They were young enough to be in college, but the room they shot their videos from definitely wasn’t a dorm. Did they  _ need  _ towels, and kitchen appliances, and warm clothes?

Sinna’s list was much the same, toys and lingerie and clothes and toiletries, but there was zero overlap between the two.  Viktor wondered if they lived together— it would certainly explain them filming in the same room, doing solo shows on alternating days and joint shows on the weekend.

Choosing was hard, and Viktor was drunk, and didn’t have the brain power for it right then.  He added every item in their lists to his cart one by one, grinning as he wrote a note in the space at the bottom.

XOXO, V.Nikifuckov ;)

It still cost less than the suit he’d been wearing earlier, and gave him a lot more satisfaction.  He thought about piles of boxes showing up at their door, and their building surprise as they opened them all.  Thought about them warm and smiling in jackets he’d bought, wrapping up in soft towels, lighting stupidly expensive candles.

Thought about them fucking each other with shiny new toys, cuffing one another in black leather, sliding lavish silk up their thighs.

Viktor sighed, a breathy, dreamy thing, and snapped his laptop closed.  

He fell asleep with the bottle still in hand, his gold medal forgotten on the floor next to the bed.   



	2. Excess

Phichit’s alarm has gone off so many times that the sound is creeping into Yuuri’s dreams.  He’s back in high school, late to class but naked as he scrambles down the halls, and the bell won’t stop ringing.  He blinks himself to wakefulness in a daze, rolling away from the noise and kicking backwards at Phichit with one socked foot.

 

“Get up,” Yuuri whines, shoving at Phichit’s knees with his toes, pulling a pillow over his head to blot out the merciless cheery trill of Phichit’s phone..

 

Phichit grumbles something incoherent but after a moment his phone falls silent, and Yuuri sighs in abject relief.  

 

He’s already almost asleep again when arms close around his waist, Phichit’s nose cold where he tucks it against Yuuri’s throat, palms slipping under Yuuri’s shirt.  Phichit is hard, grinding against Yuuri’s ass, one leg thrown lazily over him.

 

“Morning,” he lilts suggestively, and Yuuri bats his hands away, and nestles further into the pillows.

 

“If you wanted to fuck in the mornings you shouldn’t have signed up for eight AM classes.”

 

Phichit  _ always  _ wants to fuck in the mornings, but six-thirty is obscene; humans aren’t meant to be awake this early, and Yuuri refuses to reward Phichit’s bad life choices with sex.  Yuuri doesn’t even have class today, he’s certainly not going to get up before the sun has fully risen to dick Phichit down.

 

“C’mon, Yuuri,” Phichit singsongs, kissing the back of his neck, nuzzling into his hair.  Yuuri turns just enough to bring their mouths together, brief and chaste, before collapsing back into the pillows.  He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

 

“I’ll suck you off when you get home.”  It comes out through a yawn, and Phichit huffs a laugh, and rolls out of bed without further argument.  

 

The soft noises Phichit makes getting ready for class are familiar enough that Yuuri dozes off almost immediately, and doesn’t wake again.

 

Not until Phichit comes home around noon, voice wary and uncertain as he calls to Yuuri from across the house.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Phichit sounds worried, and the anxiety in his voice has Yuuri alert almost immediately.  He sits up, wiping blearily at the drool on his chin, every bone in his body cracking as he stretches before dragging himself upright.  The afternoon sun is streaming through through the windows, slipping past the dark wooden slats of their blinds. He grabs his glasses off the nightstand and stumbles into the living room in his boxers and sleep shirt, only to stop short when he reaches the doorway, blinking at the sight that greets him.

 

Phichit stands near the front door, surrounded by over a dozen boxes of varying shapes and sizes, all of them with shipping labels plastered on the sides.  Yuuri must have slept through the delivery driver knocking, which isn’t surprising, but the sheer volume is throwing him. It’s a rapid escalation, but it’s not out of nowhere.  

 

It seemed innocuous at first.

 

It’s not unusual for a package they aren’t expecting to trickle in every week.  They’ve been streaming for over a year now, and they have a decent following between the two of them.  So when they got a couple of boxes in the mail a couple of days ago, Yuuri thought nothing of it; there was some make-up for him, some kind of anime figure for Phichit.  They’d tucked the items away, and made a note to thank whoever purchased it during their next show, and that was that.

 

Except that it wasn’t.

 

The next day four more boxes arrived, these full of clothes, along with a couple of the more expensive sex toys on their wishlists.  A high end glass dildo, a plug with a rainbow tail attached. It had been a pleasant surprise, and they’d filmed a scene using one of the toys, ready to edit and upload sometime when they needed to skip a stream but didn’t want to disappoint their followers too badly.  

 

Now there are so many boxes piled up that Phichit can scarcely walk through the room without tripping over them, and Yuuri stares, wide eyed and speechless.  When he finally gets his voice back, he isn’t exactly eloquent.

 

“What the  _ fuck?” _

 

Phichit shrugs, taking a picture of the chaos with his phone before tossing it to the side.

 

“They were all piled up on the porch when I got here.  And on the steps. And in the yard.” 

 

Phichit snatches his keys off the coffee table and uses the sharp edge of one to cut through the tape on the closest box.  He digs through a pile of bubble wrap and pulls out a set of bath bombs, followed by some candles. The next box yields a winter coat off Yuuri’s list, a handful of shirts, a hoodie.  It goes on this way, Phichit unearthing one thing after another, Yuuri sitting down on the arm of the couch in a daze. Yuuri has never gotten this many gifts at one time, and he isn’t sure how to process it.

 

“This has to be most of out wishlists, right?  I can’t even remember what else was on mine, but it isn’t much,” Phichit says, glancing around, “this is crazy.”  Yuuri scratches at his head, anxiety curling in his chest.

 

“It’s some kind of mistake, right?  Someone accidentally did this?” 

 

Yuuri wonders if whoever did it is going to try and  _ undo  _ it, if they’re going to have to go through the trouble of sending all this back somehow.  It feels too good to be true, and Yuuri is wary of the tentative excitement that’s trying to form in him at the thought of not having to buy a new winter coat, or stress over their threadbare towels.  Phichit makes a noise of disagreement, sucking air through his teeth as he gestures to the mess of clothes and plastic and packing peanuts all around himself.

 

“How does someone  _ accidentally  _ order this much shit?  It’s not as if you can add everything to your cart at once.  Someone went through one item at a time and bought all of it, very deliberately.”

 

Yuuri frowns from where he’s sitting on the arm of the couch, left palm sliding nervously up and down his right bicep as he pushes his glasses up higher on his nose.

 

“Who does that?”  

 

Phichit grins, the strangeness of the situation finally giving way to utter joy for him.  He grabs a plastic package from the floor and tosses it at Yuuri; it’s a glittery pink dildo with a heavy set of balls and a suction cup on the base, something Yuuri has been wanting to use in his solo streams but couldn’t really justify buying.  Yuuri fumbles it artlessly into the floor, and Phichit shakes his head.

 

“I can’t believe this.  You’ve literally never caught a single thing I’ve ever thrown at you in your entire life.”  Yuuri throws the dildo back at him, and Phichit slaps it out of the air; it lands with a rustling clatter in a nearby box.  Phichit stands, kicking a path through the living room and then heading down the hall, looking over his shoulder at Yuuri with an exaggerated wink.  “Let’s see who loves us so much, yeah?”

 

-

 

When they open the website that hosts their wishlists and see the message there, Phichit throws his head back and laughs.

 

V.Nikifuckov is, evidently, incredibly rich, and incredibly impulsive.  Another figure skating fan, or someone who knows Phichit and Yuuri are at least if their username is anything to go by; the two of them aren’t shy about discussing their interests in the more casual part of their streams, and during skating competitions they sometimes alter their streaming schedules so they can watch certain events live.  

 

They’re both vocal supporters of Viktor Nikiforov, and Yuuri finds himself feeling a bizarre sort of fondness for this viewer who maybe, possibly enjoys figure skating as much as they do.

 

Phichit is mumbling something, but Yuuri is too busy doing math in his head to pay attention to what he’s saying, trying to figure out how much this random guy had dropped on the two of them.  A couple thousand dollars, bare minimum; probably more. It makes his stomach flip, makes his chest feel tight. 

 

Over a year, and Yuuri still has a hard time accepting that people will pay hundreds of dollars every week to watch them fuck, or masturbate, or even just dance.  This is a whole new level of baffling, and Phichit must be able to tell he’s stressing about it, because he reaches up to lay a hand on Yuuri’s arm.

 

“Hey, it’s fine, okay?  It’s a good thing. We picked up some thirsty rich fucker somewhere who doesn’t mind dropping a ton of cash to buy us things.  Someone else’s financial decisions are not your responsibility.”

 

He’s right, Yuuri knows he’s right, but he can’t quell the twinge of anxiety that lingers in his stomach.  Phichit snaps his laptop closed and tugs Yuuri down onto his lap; pulls him into a hug, and Yuuri presses his face into Phichit’s throat to hide.  It’s comforting, like it always is, and he wonders why it doesn’t feel like enough sometimes. 

 

Phichit loves him, and he loves Phichit, but it’s not some grand romance.  They’re friends, and they fuck; both on and off camera, and Yuuri enjoys every moment of it with unabashed enthusiasm.  They sleep tangled up together most nights, and always come home to one another, but there’s nothing monogamous about the two of them.  Phichit isn’t wired for it, and Yuuri doesn’t have those warm, happily ever after feelings for him beyond the comfortable sort of companionship they’ve found.  

 

It’s not a bad thing. Phichit is happy.  Yuuri is  _ mostly  _ happy, but when he is not, it has nothing to do with his friend; neither of them wants more from the other than they are capable of giving.  Phichit goes out and gets laid. Yuuri goes on awkward dates. He eats dinner with people he hardly knows. Sits in coffee shops with classmates who smile too wide and speak too loud and try so very hard to make it work.  It doesn’t work.

 

It never works.  

 

Yuuri wants more.  Wants it to come easy, like it does with Phichit, except with that spark that’s always missing from his life.

 

That breathless, weightless feeling he’s only ever had on the ice.  Something he’s lost now, the scar on his knee and the ache in his bones both brutal reminders that he’ll never get it back.

 

Phichit runs his palms in circles on Yuuri’s shoulder blades, humming low in the back of his throat.

 

“You feel guilty that this guy spent so much money on us.”  Yuuri nods, because it’s not a lie, and it hurts less than the truth.  He  _ does  _ feel kind of guilty, even if his thoughts are slanting sideways in an entirely different direction, now.  “Let’s go get out that plug and some of the lingerie he bought, and we can film something, and message it to the dude.  A reward, just for him, yeah? Early access. Would that make you feel better?”

 

Yuuri nods again, because it really, really will.  It will distract him from the achy sort of loneliness that’s trying to take hold in his chest, and assuage the guilt he’s feeling over the rest.

 

They aren’t hurting for cash, but they also can’t afford to treat themselves like this; there isn’t a lot left over after bills and groceries and saving for school.  Now there’s two grand worth of frivolous, extravagant bullshit Yuuri could never afford in their living room, and if there’s one thing he knows how to do now, it’s look good on camera.

 

They tug on new stockings, soft silk with lace tops that stretch taut around their thighs; navy for Yuuri, vivid red for Phichit.  They paint their nails to match, and Phichit puts lipstick on Yuuri— holds his jaw, and his gaze, and spreads dark, shimmering blue meticulously over his mouth.  

 

“Perfect,” Phichit says with a grin, and it’s not a lie.  Phichit does think Yuuri’s perfect, and it’s not everything he needs, but it’s real, and genuine, and Yuuri loves him in all the ways he can.

 

He presses his mouth to Phichit’s throat, leaving neat, pretty imprints in his wake.  Once, twice; just enough to draw the audience’s eye, and they set up their camera and get rolling.  

 

They fuck artfully, in a way that’s practiced but still feels good— there’s no point in any of this if they don’t get off.  Yuuri puts Phichit on his hands and knees and works their new glass plug into him, the rainbow tail brushing soft over his thighs.  It sways as Yuuri feeds his cock into Phichit’s mouth, rocking into him in a rhythm that would be punishing for anyone else, but has Phichit’s eyes lidded and heavy with bliss.  Yuuri fists his hair, and gives it to him just the way he likes, rough and hard and fast. He comes down his throat, a couple of drops trickling out of the corner of his mouth, catching the light.

 

Yuuri keeps the promise he made that morning.  He flips Phichit onto his back and kisses his way down his chest, sucking him off with an eagerness that never fades, no matter how often he does it.  He takes Phichit to the hilt, nose pressed into his abdomen, leaving a vivid lipstick ring around the base of his cock. 

 

He’s long past having a gag reflex, nowadays.

 

Phichit comes on his face, splattering it across his mouth, across the fading blue of his lips.  They fall into each other and just breathe for a while, Phichit’s fingers in his hair, glasses sitting awkwardly on his face. 

 

Later they put fresh lipstick on and take a handful of selfies of the two of them kissing, hair messy and well fucked, blue and red smearing into purple around their mouths.  Phichit sends a private link to the unedited video and a few of the selfies through the messaging system on the site, along with a quick thanks finished off by far too many emojis.  

 

They rinse off in the shower, and crawl into bed to take a nap.  

 

It’s several hours before they get any kind of response, but eventually Phichit’s phone buzzes with a notification.  

 

**V.nikifuckov:** wooooooooow <3<3<3 amazing, thank you!!

 

Viktor uses more emojis than Phichit, which is an accomplishment in and of itself.

 

Phichit laughs again, and Yuuri shakes his head— it  _ is  _ amazing, but probably not in the way this guy seems to think.

 

Just before they nod off again Phichit’s phone chimes; v.nikifuckov has given them both a tip, and when Yuuri sees how much, he feels dizzy all over again.

 

He buries his face in a pillow, and screams.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things <3


	3. Lag

His coffee is too hot to drink yet, but the warm ceramic feels good in his hands.  He holds it between his palms, squinting at the brightness of his computer screen, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.  The sun hasn’t risen, and St. Petersburg is dark and mostly quiet outside his windows, the Saturday morning bustle a long way off.  He doesn’t have training today; no practice, no press, no hours to log at the gym. Viktor should still be in bed taking advantage of all the rest he can get, while he can get it.

 

His body hasn’t gotten the memo, apparently, startling him awake when his alarm is usually set to go off and refusing to let him drift back to sleep.  It’s a blessing in disguise, at least this morning. 

 

St. Petersburg is eight hours ahead of Shiori and Sinna, wherever they are in the states.  Six in the morning for Viktor is ten at night for them— prime time streaming hours, and Viktor blows on his coffee before taking a careful sip, and waits for the placeholder graphic on their channel to switch over to a live feed.  

 

It’s been three weeks since he cleared out their wishlists.  Between jet-lag and post season interviews and settling back into his apartment, Viktor hasn’t gotten the chance to watch them stream.  Not that he’s been missing out entirely— Shiori and Sinna have sent him several videos of themselves that are nowhere to be found on their sites yet.  ‘Exclusive sneak peeks,’ they say, just for him, and if that makes him feel warm and stupidly happy it’s no one’s business but his own. 

 

He keeps finding little details about the two of them that draw him in further— Sinna’s awful taste in music.  Shiori’s fixation on video games. There are videos of him playing strange rpgs in lingerie, and Viktor doesn’t know anything about armor classes or weapon proficiencies, but watching him scrunch his nose up during a boss fight as he focuses on the screen is entrancing enough that he thinks he could learn.

 

When he realizes they’re both huge figure skating enthusiasts, Viktor has to restrain himself from messaging them in his excitement just to brag.  Once he gets over his surprise he scolds himself— just because they’re figure skating fans doesn’t automatically mean they’re  _ his  _ fans— except then he finds a video of them gushing over his short program from last season with the kind of unabashed enthusiasm that only comes with a true love of the sport.  

 

They spent a few minutes dissecting it in a way that makes Viktor wonder if they’re skaters themselves, analyzing the composition, talking about the precision of his jumps and spins.  Where he got slighted by the judges, the places he wobbled on his landings.

 

Then they spent even longer talking about his costume choices, and all the skin he shows, and  _ my god, his thighs, please crush me, Viktor. _

 

_ Want to bury my face in that ass and eat it for every meal,  _ and Viktor has to cover his face with both hands, cheeks bright and hot.  It’s one thing for anonymous fans to openly lust after him on the internet; Viktor is used to it, and it doesn’t faze him anymore.

 

It’s something else entirely to hear the two camboys he buys gifts for and spends his free time jerking off to talk about how they’d like to bend him over and rim him until he cries.

 

Now that he’s looking, Viktor can see one of his promotional posters on the wall in their room.  Just the bottom left corner of it— one of his skates, his leg extended behind him— but he’s signed it enough times over the years that it’s impossible to miss.  

 

They don’t really know Viktor, but even the anonymous admiration of a fan is better than nothing.  

 

Better than being a stranger, paying strangers to fuck for him.

 

The screen flashes for a moment, drawing his eyes.  When he looks up disappointment surges through him. It’s not the beginning of a live stream; it’s an away message,  _ sorry we can’t make it today, please enjoy this new video instead!  See you next Friday! _

 

There is a link to a video Viktor has already seen.  It’s the first one they sent him, the two of them covered in lipstick, kissing messily.  It’s lovely, but Viktor has watched it twice in the past week, and it’s not an especially good substitute for seeing them in real time.

 

He’s about to close his laptop when a request for a video chat comes through from sinnamon-thai.  A window pops up on Viktor’s screen with several options; decline, chat only, audio only, audio and video.  It takes a moment for him to realize they haven’t canceled the stream altogether.

 

They’re offering him a private show.

 

He’s seen rates for private shows on other camboys sites when he was clicking aimlessly around, but Shiori and Sinna don’t offer them, so he hadn’t ever put much thought into it.  No one else has really caught his attention this way, and it would be a waste of time and money both.

 

Now, though.

 

Now Viktor is sorely tempted to click video and watch the two of them lose their shit when they realize who he is, but manages to hold back at the last moment, tapping at the audio only key to accept the call.  The image flickers before settling, showing Sinna and Shiori both in frame, staring raptly at the screen. 

 

“Hello there,” Viktor says.  It comes out a little breathless.  It’s nothing he can help.

 

Shiori is wearing a replica of one of Viktor’s old free skate costumes.  It’s indigo and black, sheer in places, fabric flowing loose at the wrists.  He’s not wearing anything underneath it; Viktor’s swallows as his mouth goes dry.

 

It suits Shiori better than it ever suited him.

 

“Wow,” Viktor adds, unable to stop himself.  “Amazing.” The last word spills out in Russian, and Shiori and Sinna both grin, sharing a look.

 

“We weren’t sure if you were a fan, or just knew we were fans, but we figured you might like this either way,” Sinna says, nodding his head towards Shiori to indicate his costume.  Viktor can’t help the stupid smile on his face; the way it slips into his voice, makes him sound pleased.

 

“I’m certainly a fan of you in it.”

 

The two of them snicker, Shiori biting his lip like he’s nervous.

 

“Not as good as Viktor, maybe, but he’s not too shabby,” Sinna says, and Shiori leans over and shoves him with his shoulder.  Viktor can’t stop staring at his costume on Shiori; the way it clings, his skin through the fabric.

 

More than anything, more than ever, Viktor wishes he could put his hands on him and  _ feel. _

 

“Viktor’s all right, I guess.  But look at  _ you.   _ Beautiful.”  

 

Shiori covers the bottom half of his face with one palm, eyes flitting away from the camera.  Shyly, like he doesn’t fuck on camera twice a week for thousands of people to watch, and Sinna rolls his eyes.

 

“Are you kidding me right now?”  Sinna asks, laughter in his voice.

 

“It’s different when it’s just one person!”  Shiori hisses back. Sinna reaches out and tucks Shiori’s face into his shoulder, petting through his hair a few times before releasing him.

 

“You have an accent,” he says, leading, and Viktor nods even though no one can see him.

 

“I’m Russian.”  

 

Shiori blinks, and frowns, brows furrowing.

 

“Are you  _ in  _ Russia?”  

 

“Da,” Viktor answers, a little confused by the incredulity in his tone.  Shiori gapes.

 

“What time is it right now?”  

 

“Six… ten?”  Viktor glances at the corner of his screen, and back again.  “Six fourteen.”

 

Shiori looks like he’s physically in pain.

 

“That’s so  _ early,  _ why are you awake?”

 

Sinna shoves at him, glaring.

 

“He’s awake to watch us, obviously.”

 

Viktor hasn’t stopped smiling, but it slides wider, one corner of his mouth twitching up.

 

“I always wake up this early.  I’ve been… traveling, but I’m back now.  I have the day off, I thought I’d try and catch you streaming.”  

 

“We’ve been waiting to see you in the chat.  We wanted to do something special for you, since you’ve been so generous.  Thought you might enjoy a private show, but if it’s too early we can plan something at a better time for you?”  Sinna says, intonation rising at the end, and Viktor shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says, a little too loudly, “no, it’s fine, now is fine.  It’s… it’s good. You look…” Viktor swears under his breath. “Now is perfect.  Please.”

 

Shiori looks less than convinced.

 

“Next time we’ll message you, set up something in advance,” he says apologetically, and Viktor preens.

 

“Next time, huh?”  

 

It’s smug, and happy, and Sinna grins.

 

“You’ve taken very good care of us.  We’d like to take good care of you, too.  Can we call you Viktor? Is there something else you’d like better?”

 

Viktor breathes out slowly, hoping his mic isn’t strong enough to pick up the way it shakes.

 

“Viktor is fine.  It’s my real name, actually.”

 

The two of them lock eyes, but Viktor can’t read them well enough to know what it means; the wordless communication of lovers who know each other better than they know themselves.  Sinna reaches forward to adjust their laptop, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders.

 

“Okay then, Viktor.  Anything special you’d like to see today?  Any requests?”

 

Viktor has seen the kind of things people ask them to do in the chat; some of it is vile, some merely strange.  Weird niche fetishes, eating certain foods, requests involving sweaty clothes. He’s not interested in any of that.

 

He just wants something real, or as close to real as they can give him.

 

“Are you two together?  Do you… do you only fuck for shows and videos, or are you really a couple?”

 

They share another look, both tilting their head, but in different directions.  Sinna makes a ‘so-so’ motion with one hand, wiggling his palm flat in the air. Shiori shoves him again, and they both laugh.

 

“We live together.  We share a bed, we fuck.  We love each other but we’re not exclusive.  Why?” 

 

There are layers in Sinna’s voice; things that are going unspoken.

 

Things Viktor has no right to be so curious to hear, and he shakes away the urge to press for more.

 

“You don’t have to do anything special for me.  Just fuck the way you would if no one was watching.  Like it’s just the two of you.”

 

Shiori blushes again, like it’s some scandalous thing Viktor is asking for, but Sinna frowns.

 

“You sure?  There’s nothing you want?”

 

There are a lot of things Viktor wants, loneliness yawning deep in his chest, but it’s nothing two boys halfway across the world from him can give him right now.  

 

He can pretend, though.

 

“This is what I want.  To see you how you are without the cameras and the tips and the lights.  Just… be yourselves. Make each other feel good. It’ll make me feel good, too.”  

 

They look surprised, but they take him at his word, tapping at something that switches Viktor’s view from their laptop to a different camera, this one pointed at their bed.

 

“Tell us if you change your mind, yeah?”  Shiori asks, guiding Sinna slowly down onto the pillows, both of them glancing over at the camera.

 

“Sure,” Viktor says, but he knows he won’t.

 

He doesn’t want them thinking they owe him anything in particular, and they don’t have to do anything special to impress him.

 

Viktor is good at pretending; he can do it all himself.

 

-

 

Yuuri is surprised when their viewer accepts the call on audio instead of chat only.

 

He’s more surprised when his voice comes through; it might just be that he’s Russian, but it’s hard not to imagine Viktor Nikiforov on the other end.  Yuuri doesn’t know if they really sound all that similar, or if it’s context making it seem that way; the accent, the username, the insistence that his name really is Viktor.  It doesn’t matter, really.

 

Yuuri has fantasized about Viktor enough that it makes things easier, to pretend it’s for him, that he is watching.  He needs all the help he can get. Doing a show for a single, specific person is somehow more nerve wracking than performing for hundreds at once.

 

Then he has Phichit underneath him like he’s been a thousand times before, warm and pliant in nothing but red briefs and pink lipgloss, and it really is easy.  Yuuri sets his glasses on the nightstand, and cups Phichit’s face, and kisses him.

 

The familiarity of it has Yuuri unwinding, tongue sliding into Phichit’s mouth, hands sinking into his hair.  He gets his knees between Phichit’s and eases them wide, grinding down into him. Phichit hums and wraps his legs around him, urging Yuuri closer with his heels, palms moving up and down Yuuri’s back.  It’s effortless, stoking the want in Phichit higher until he’s moaning into their kisses and clutching at Yuuri’s clothes. 

 

Phichit unfolds for him, beautifully as always;  it’s something Yuuri will never get tired of watching.

 

Something he’ll need to hold onto, no matter what happens.

 

There’s no happily ever after for Yuuri without Phichit there.

 

Phichit slowly drags the zipper in the back of Yuuri’s costume down his spine, tugging the sleeves off his arms to lay his chest bare.  They wrestle it the rest of the way off, Yuuri taking a moment to spread the fabric out across the floor before tugging Phichit’s briefs off as well.

 

He’s almost forgotten they’re not entirely alone, mouthing his way lazily up Phichit’s cock, when he hears noise from the speakers of his laptop.  

 

Viktor bites out something in Russian; praise or profanity, Yuuri can’t tell which.  Then there’s sound of him breathing hard, followed by a click, and the slick noise of skin of skin.

 

Yuuri has edited enough porn videos to recognize the sounds of someone masturbating, but knowing people get off to him and Phichit, and  _ hearing  _ them get off, are very different things.

 

It’s hotter than he expects it to be, fingering Phichit open and pressing into him with the breathy noise of someone’s appreciation echoing through the room.  Yuuri takes Phichit slow— fucking him deep, just the way he likes it— and listens to Viktor touch himself. Listens to him gasp. Viktor is loud, and it makes Yuuri wonder if he’s doing it for show, or if he’d be even louder in person.  What kind of noises he could get him to make.

 

How he would sound saying Yuuri’s name.

 

Viktor comes well before either of them with a wounded sob, and they pause for a moment, glancing over to the camera as he catches his breath.  There are a few moments of panting, some rustling sounds, and then Viktor speaks up. Softer than before, accent a little thicker.

 

It’s endearing, and Yuuri feels achingly, impossibly fond.

 

“Keep going.  Want to watch you both finish.  Please.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t rush it.  Takes his time, working Phichit up until he’s desperate, clawing at Yuuri’s back and bossing him around.

 

“Stop teasing and  _ fuck  _ me, come on, Yu—” Phichit catches himself, and smacks Yuuri on the shoulder, as though it’s his fault Phichit almost called him by his real name.   _ “Shiori,”  _ he finishes, and Yuuri grins down at him, and gives him what he wants.

 

Gives him everything, hard and fast, until he’s well past being able to speak in words.  Phichit comes first, arching up off the bed and leaving marks in Yuuri’s biceps as he whines through it. 

 

It’s pure muscle memory after that.  Yuuri pulls out and gives himself a dozen rough strokes, leaning down to kiss Phichit artlessly as he finishes in pearly streaks over Phichit’s abdomen.  He runs his hands through the mess; Phichit hates it, but he’s used to it by now, and he doesn’t complain. They make out for a while, drowsy in the aftermath of their orgasms, until Viktor hums out a pleased noise through their speakers.

 

“Beautiful.  Thank you for that.  It was nice to have you all to myself.”  

 

Yuuri drags himself out of bed, tossing a sheet absently on top of Phichit without thinking before sliding his glasses on and stumbling over to the laptop.  He switches the camera feed to the computer, frowning at a notification in the corner— Viktor has sent another tip through for the two of them. More than the last time, by a staggering amount.  Yuuri whines anxiously before he can stop himself, giving the webcam a vaguely frantic look.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.  This was supposed to be a thanks for all you’ve already done, not us trying to get more out of you.”

 

There’s silence for a moment.  Phichit sits up and cocks his head at Yuuri, curiosity written all over his features.

 

“I have more money than I know what to do with.  Giving it to you makes me happy, and I won’t miss it.  Pick out more things for your wishlists, while your at it.  Let me take care of you.”

 

Yuuri covers his face with both hands, slipping his fingers under the lenses of his glasses to rub at his eyes before dropping them again. 

 

“You’ve already done so much, we couldn’t ask for anything more.”

 

“You’re not asking, I’m insisting.  If it makes you feel better to do this from time to time, give me private shows, I won’t complain, but it’s not necessary, either.”

 

Phichit has wandered over while Yuuri wasn’t paying attention, and leans over his shoulder, clicking to check the tip notification for himself.  He whistles at the amount, dropping his arms around Yuuri’s neck and looking at the camera.

 

“Don’t listen to him.  We’re very grateful, and we’d be happy to do another show for you whenever you like.  Maybe something not quite so early for you, next time.”

 

Viktor laughs, and the anxiety in Yuuri… doesn’t calm, exactly, but it does stop rising higher.

 

“It was certainly a nice a start to the day, but I do usually have... obligations, in the mornings.  I’m sure we can work something out, but only if it isn’t a bother. You don’t owe me anything.”

 

Phichit smiles wide on screen, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s temple.

 

“Try and think of something you’d like us to do for you.  I think it would make Shiori feel better about taking all your money.  It was nice spending the evening with you. You enjoyed yourself, yes?”

 

“Yes, very much.”

 

“I’m glad.  Until next time, then?”  Phichit asks.

 

“Da, next time.  Sleep well, you two.”

 

“Have a good day, Viktor!”

 

Phichit closes out the stream, and spins Yuuri’s chair around, laying a palm on either side of his face.

 

“Breathe, okay?  In and out. Count for me.”

 

Yuuri hadn’t realized he was so close to raw, unbridled panic, but the sound of Phichit’s voice and the heat of his skin soothing Yuuri down faster than anything else ever could.  He obeys, measuring his breaths, holding Phichit’s gaze.

 

“He’s very rich, and he has too much money, and very good taste in porn, okay?”  Yuuri laughs; it’s weak, but it’s enough to have Phichit continuing. “It’s not a bad thing.  Maybe he doesn’t buy a seventh car, or something, I don’t fucking know. He’s not going hungry, and he’s not doing without, and it’s okay.”

 

Yuuri nods, fast and sharp.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

It isn’t, but it probably will be, once Yuuri wraps his head around it.  

 

It’s a few hours before the warmth settles in his guts, cheeks heating all over again.

 

Some rich man halfway around the world likes them enough to funnel thousands of dollars into their bank accounts, and buy them extravagant gifts.  Enough to wake up at six am on a Saturday, and watch them stream porn.

 

Enough that he doesn’t want anything special,  _ make each other feel good. _

 

_ It’ll make me feel good, too. _

 

Yuuri feels more than good, and it’s new, and bright, and terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things, or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


	4. Surely

Viktor’s life hasn’t changed, really, but it certainly feels different.

Shiori and Sinna work out a schedule over the next month or so, setting up a private stream for him every other Sunday evening. Sunday afternoon, for them— they’re streaming from Detroit, he learns, and tries not to fixate on when he might be near there again. It’s creepy even in his head, and he does his best to avoid thinking about it.

It still slips past sometimes; when he’s talking with his manager about fan events or exhibitions in the states, or trying to decide when he can take some days off later in the season. 

If Viktor agrees to do a charity performance at one of the rinks there early next year it’s got nothing to do with them— or that’s what he tells himself when he says yes, and requests a pair of VIP passes for the autograph session he’ll be roped into doing. Maybe nothing happens; maybe they lose interest, and Viktor becomes another anonymous viewer. Maybe he loses interest, and stops watching altogether.

The achy sort of stretch in his chest and the tangle of messy warmth in his guts implies otherwise; Viktor hasn’t had a crush like this since he was a teenager. His relationships and attractions have always been fleeting things. 

Vikor feels intensely, and quickly, and then it’s gone before he even has a chance to notice it fading at all. This doesn’t feel like that.

This feels like something else.

Viktor doesn’t have the time to watch them live every week. Not with all the training he puts in, and he wouldn’t want to impose on them anyway. Things fall into an easy rhythm for him, not unlike before; he trains, and trains, and trains. Does the occasional interview or photoshoot, his sponsors more than happy to get their money’s worth out of him. Viktor is on magazine covers, and in advertisements, and talking to journalists in coffee shops.

Viktor is on his laptop, telling Shiori and Sinna what he wants from them.

Telling them he wants nothing at all, sometimes.

The first few streams he has specific requests, mostly because it seems like it makes Shiori more comfortable. He asks them to wear lingerie he’s bought, or use certain toys.

Asks to watch Sinna come all over Shiori’s glasses. Over his lips, hair wild under Sinna’s hands, every inch of them eager to please. 

Asks them to jack off for him, and they lean into each other, breathless and gasping as they take themselves in hand. Sinna nuzzles against Shiori’s throat, and Shiori breathes into his hair.

Shiori arcs like a bowstring when he comes; points his toes, heels lifting off the floor. Elegant in the black thigh highs he’s wearing, and Viktor would like to dig his thumbs into the arches of his feet, and work all the soreness out until he was sleepy and drowsing.

He doesn’t just watch, though; Viktor always has his mic open on their streams. He talks, and they talk, and it’s easily as rewarding as anything else. Shiori and Sinna tell him about their summer classes, and their hobbies, and the weather; movies they watch, music they like. Viktor listens, lulled into a lazy calm by the sound of their voices. By the soft way they interact with one another.

The soft way they interact with him.

They say his name when they finish, sometimes, and it comes out so naturally it makes Viktor writhe. 

Shiori is obviously sick, one week, and Viktor refuses to make any requests. They watch half of a movie together, instead— some science fiction monstrosity that Viktor can’t really follow, but Shiori is engrossed, and Sinna screeches almost comically when something graphic happens on-screen. He’d like to be there to take care of Shiori, even if that would mostly entail buying him soup and petting his hair. Viktor’s never nursed anyone back to health before, but it can’t be that hard.

Not when Shiori is red-nosed and exhausted and Viktor wants to do everything he can to make him feel better.

He puts money in their accounts every week whether he watches them or not. An obscene amount of money— that’s what Shiori calls it once, pink cheeked and breathing too fast. Sinna talks to him very gently, and massages the back of his neck, and he shrinks in on himself and closes his eyes.

Listens to Viktor tell him it’s okay. It’s not a lot of money to him.

It makes me happy to take care of you, and he finally stops protesting, even if he refuses to add anything else to his wishlist. It doesn’t really make a difference.

Viktor has the address to their post office box; knows the sizes of their clothes, and their shoes, and the kind of food they like to eat. When Shiori’s wishlist stays empty for a while he starts sending them gift cards to restaurants and coffee shops and sporting goods stores, along with sweaters and hats and gloves. Viktor knows what it’s like to be cold, and especially enjoys the thought of them keeping warm with things he’s given them.

He packs up his favorite scarf and mails it Shiori— something he’s worn dozens of times. Something he’s been interviewed in before, photographed wearing; Viktor wonders if it will look familiar. If there are pictures of him wearing it somewhere in their apartment, Viktor smiling in the snow in a promotional print.

It’s not even winter yet. Viktor doesn’t care.

He also sends them both two pairs of custom Louboutin heels each in their sizes and some lengths of red silk rope, and hopes that’s a clear enough request all on its own.

He texts them through the site’s messaging system— not just about streams. Viktor sends them pictures of his food, or dogs he passes on the street. Amateur photos of the St. Petersburg skyline. Sunset from the balcony of his apartment. Sinna messages him more, at first, but Shiori picks up the pace as they get to know each other better. The texts from him are less rambling, fewer emojis and more actual words, along with pictures he takes throughout the day; a stray cat that keeps showing up on their windowsill, even several stories in the air. A garden he passes when he walks to the store.

The things he buys with the money Viktor sends them; a new tablet, a case for his laptop.

A pair of skates, perfect and unmarred, gold blades on the bottom just like Viktor’s own. He hasn’t had to pay for skating gear in ages, but he knows they’re expensive, which means Shiori is spoiling himself.

It’s everything Viktor wants— to be useful in some way off the ice.

To give someone else what they need, somehow. 

To mean something without the shadow of his name looming over him.

Viktor sends them flowers and chocolates every week, a standing order that he finalizes whenever he puts money into their accounts. The first time he did it, Shiori sent him a picture, a selfie with nothing but his eyes visible over the bouquet. 

Viktor, this is too much, but he’d looked flushed and happy and Viktor hadn’t been able to stop.

Six months in, and they’ve quit doing solo shows altogether. They still hold their joint stream once a week, and make videos to post to their page, but that’s it. It takes him a while to notice. He doesn’t go to their page much, anymore; they send him private stream links, or videos, and there’s no reason for him to check anything else. When he finally realizes he’s pleased to the point of smugness.

They don’t need to stream by themselves anymore because of him.

They don’t need to stream at all anymore, unless they have some exorbitant expense Viktor hasn’t accounted for in his calculations. He understands why they don’t stop altogether— there’s no way for them to know when Viktor might stop paying them, and he doesn’t blame them for being wary. But anyone could live on what Viktor is paying them, anywhere, and that’s without all the excessive gifts he sends their way.

Knowing that he’s made their lives easier is rewarding. Indulgent in a way he didn’t know was possible, and as competition starts in earnest, Viktor needs all the indulgence he can get.

It’s September, and he’s already gone through the first round of qualifiers for Russian nationals. Winning feels better than it did last season. Feels smoother.

His short program is sensual; heated, and hungry. It’s not surprising, the effortless way his body falls into the movement.

He choreographed it thinking of Shiori and Sinna.

He skates it thinking of Shiori and Sinna, and it’s so easy the lose himself in the flow of it, in the unfettered longing he’s written into every turn and spin and twist. The season is taking its toll, though, as it always does. Viktor is tired and sore when he sits down on his couch, laptop already open on the coffee table and ready for Shiori and Sinna’s chat request to come through. 

It isn’t early, but he’d fallen asleep without meaning to sometime mid-afternoon, and only woken up at the trill of his alarm telling him it was time for the stream soon. His hair is wild, sticking up in every direction, and he runs his fingers through it to tame it down. Viktor pulls the throw blanket on the back of the couch around his shoulders, and draws his feet up onto the cushions. 

He’s yawning when the familiar, melodic chime of the video chat notification comes through. Viktor clicks absently to select audio, stretching as he waits for it to connect. His coffee is on the table, and he reaches for it, taking a sip and listening for Sinna’s cheery greeting— except it doesn’t come.

What he gets instead is a pair of shocked gasps, and the sound of something clattering to the floor.

Then Sinna’s voice— 

“Oh my fucking god.”

Viktor looks up sharply, putting his coffee back down and wiping at his chin where he spilled it, only to go very still when he sees the screen. Most of it is taken up by Shiori and Sinna, as always, but there is a smaller window in the corner showing Viktor— pink cheeks and tangled hair, buried in blankets and his favorite sweater. It isn’t an audio only chat.

He clicked the wrong button, and now Shiori and Sinna are staring, wide-eyed and open mouthed. His stomach drops, and his heart stutters.

Viktor covers his face with both hands. 

This is not how he wanted to look when Shiori and Sinna found out it was him on the other side of their screen; rumpled and tired with bags under his eyes, viewed from the worst angle imaginable. He drags his palms down until only his eyes are showing, an awkward smile forming behind them against his will as he peeks over his fingers.

“Privyet,” he says, dropping his hands entirely and brushing through his hair some more, like it’s going to help anything. He looks like a disaster; Viktor laughs. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“NO!” Sinna says, disbelieving. He has one hand on his throat, and the other on Shiori’s shoulder, squeezing hard.

“You’re NOT-” Shiori says, trailing off and looking pale. Viktor gives a little a wave.

“Viktor Nikiforov. I’m… sorry?” He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. He laughs again, nervous. Uncertain. “I hadn’t planned on doing that for a while.”

Not until more of the season was behind him.

Not until he was getting ready to mail them VIP passes, and head to Detroit for his charity event.

“You’re not, you’re… that’s not possible, it’s… a very good cosplay, or something. You’re fucking with us.” 

Shiori sounds frantic. Looks rattled, and Viktor hates that he did that to him, but he’s thought about how to handle this moment for a while now. He grabs for his phone and pulls up the cam site there, following the links to Shiori’s promotional Twitter. It has little snippets of all their recent videos there— Shiori’s legs in thigh highs and garters. A shot of just his mouth, lipstick smeared red from one corner.

Viktor sends him a DM from his verified public account, and waits for it to go through.

Hello, Shiori! <3

“Check your Twitter,” he says, and Shiori frowns and picks up his phone, Sinna looking over his shoulder.

He taps at it a few times, and then makes a noise that Viktor’s only heard from him once, when Sinna was nailing him mercilessly with a strangely shaped, monstrous dildo. Sinna looks back at the screen with a grin, surprised but not unhappy.

Shiori looks like he might throw up.

“It’s… you’re… we just watched you skate in the Russian national qualifiers! Oh my God… the things I said about you, oh my God.” Shiori tucks his face into Sinna’s neck, both hands covering his face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I… oh my God, Phichit.”

It must be Sinna’s real name, but Shiori doesn’t even notice what he said. Sinna— Phichit— combs through his hair, and makes shushing noises.

“Shhh, hey, it’s all right, okay? Yuuri, sweetheart, he doesn’t mind.” He’s talking quietly, but not quietly enough.

Yuuri.

Viktor lets that settle in his thoughts. Feels it on his tongue.

Phichit glances up, both arms wrapped around Yuuri now.

“You don’t mind, right, Viktor? Tell him.”

Viktor leans forward, gesturing wildly with his hands. He wishes he could hug Yuuri, too. Wants to thread his fingers into his hair and tell him it’s all right.

Wants more than he’s allowed to have, and it swells in chest, and hurts in his jaw.

“I’m sorry I upset you. I don’t mind! It was,” Viktor smiles, and covers his mouth with one palm, “flattering, actually. To think you might like me too, even if you didn’t know it was me you’d been talking with all this time. Please don’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was going to wait until December to tell you. I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

Yuuri keeps his face hidden, but Phichit raises an eyebrow.

“Why December?” Phichit asks, and Viktor shrugs.

“I’m doing a charity skate in Detroit in January. I have tickets for you, if you want them. I didn’t want to assume, or be creepy, but there’s an autograph signing. Or we could… meet somewhere else? For dinner, or coffee?” Saying it out loud sounds worse than he expected. Propositioning sex workers over the internet, trying to get them to meet up with him. Viktor covers his face again, mumbling through his fingers. “I’m sorry, that’s… weird, isn’t it? I don’t want to be the weird guy.”

“It’s not weird,” Phichit says, even as Yuuri makes a high pitched whining noise in his throat. “It’s weirder that we’ve been getting paid so much to do streams for you, when you’re… a very nice guy with a very hot voice who we both get along with really well.” Phichit whispers something to Yuuri that Viktor can’t hear, and Yuuri nods into his chest. “Viktor, can… can we postpone this a little while? We’re not upset with you but uh… I think we need a minute? This is… a lot. Maybe we can ping you later?”

Viktor nods, hands on his cheeks, worry coiling through him like smoke.

“No, of course, that’s fine! You ah… could just call me, if the video thing is… too much?” He taps his phone number out in the chat log before he can stop himself and sends it through. “If you don’t want to it’s fine! Do… do I need to pretend like I didn’t hear your names?”

Phichit goes a little slack-jawed at the sight of Viktor’s cell number in the chat, but he shakes it off quickly.

“I think we’re past that. It’s only fair, right? We’ll… we’ll call you. We’ll call Viktor Nikiforov, oh my God.” His voice goes a little higher at the end, and he reaches to disconnect the stream.

“I’m sorry Yuuri!” Viktor says. Yuuri looks up from Phichit’s embrace, dark-eyed and overwhelmed, and then the screen goes black.

Viktor covers his face with a pillow and screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things or yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things I'm a tired author alright


End file.
